


All Work + Some Play

by veridium_bye



Category: Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: F/F, Fluff and Smut, I Wrote This Instead Of Being Productive, My Original OTP, Smut, sex on a desk
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-02-12
Updated: 2019-02-12
Packaged: 2019-10-26 13:56:30
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,694
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17747150
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/veridium_bye/pseuds/veridium_bye
Summary: A pure, unadulterated fluffy love scene between Theia and Josephine. I know it's been 84 years since I've written for them but best believe they're still the Queens of my heart.





	All Work + Some Play

She knew where to find her. She’d always know where to find her; forever and always. Another night working her fingers to the bone writing and surveying the war council table, candles and torches illuminating where the long-fallen sun couldn’t. Theia slipped in between the door and saw her there, standing and not bothering to look up. Nose crinkled, brow low, mouth mumbling numbers without voice.

She found her.

With a smirk and a shut door, Theia walked slow. “My love, you work for deadlines answerable to no one higher than yourself, and yet you still act as if you are on someone else’s dial,” she observed, hips dragging.

Josephine, ever the one for focus, kept writing. “Theia, you pretend I control the world’s time at the touch of my thumb,” she replied, a touch of absent-minded distance in her tone. Oh, that simply wouldn’t do.

“Josephine,” she said, low and playfully chiding as she ran her fingers through her white hair, “have you gotten the impression that I am dismissable?”

The Ambassador wrote more, quill hissing against the paper. “Never, what would–” Josephine’s eyes glanced up to see no one standing there even though she was sure Theia had simply been standing on the other side of the table, stepping heavy and smiling. Looking around, she blinked and parted her lips.

Theia had gotten too used to Fade-walking ever since being promoted as a Knight Enchanter. To be fair, it had its versatile uses, one of which was getting herself to where she needed to be: up against her woman’s back, hands slipping around her sides. One going up to her chest and the other…well, the opposite direction.

With her mouth to her ear, Theia reformed full in the flesh, a subtle grin on her teeth. She laughed, hushed and sinister but with the best intentions. Josephine gave out what sounded like a soft exhale, a wanting one, but controlled.

“You may dismiss me, but I’ll have your full attention for it.”

Josephine leaned into her, just enough, just the right amount for Theia to know she didn’t abhor her trick completely. “Amor, you cannot be insinuating that I would…”

“I’m not insinuating…” Theia smiled, teeth grading on the rim of her ear, “I’m asking. Begging, if I must.”

“W-what has gotten into you? Did you have too much wine with dinner?”

She was stalling. Distracting her ego. Josephine played well; all it took was one appeal to Theia’s vanity and she would have her spun out from her agenda. Explaining and bantering on about how she wasn’t drunk, and she didn’t need to be. A move, tried and true, but Theia learned.

She smirked, removing her hands from their more direct destinations, grabbing Josephine by the shoulders and turning her around to face her. No farther than a breath between their mouths as she looked at her lips with hunger.

And Josephine was grinning. Distracted, but tempted. Her skin, her freckles, her blemishes that compiled her like a watercolor come to life. How could she resist her?

Theia’s thumb and index finger curled under her lover’s chin. “If it is work you wish to make you sweat, by all means, work.”

Josephine tilted her head. “…the look in your eyes says that is anything but a concession on your part.”

“Work, Josephine,” Theia hummed, tongue pressed to the roof of her mouth as her hands slipped low.

Josephine blushed an ember hue in her cheeks as Theia unhitched her belt. With her other hand she grabbed the quill the Ambassador had set down, placing it back in her hand where it rightfully belonged. Everything in her face was saying you cannot be serious, but her arching back and hot exhalations said you better be.

“Theia…” Josephine mumbled, grip clenching on the the quill in one hand and the edge of Theia’s vest rim with the other, every single scruple said it was wrong. That it was unsightly. That it was not good practice to sully a place of collective congress.

But then Theia slipped her mouth up her neck, agape and ravenous, but not daring to cut or bite. And she moaned. Breathless, light, an escape, but a moan nonetheless. Then Theia had found her way to the lace layer of smalls, the final line between her hand and where she wanted to feel. Josephine spread her knees and secured them around Theia’s hips, one of her slippers falling off of her feet and onto the floor.

“Work,” Theia moaned against her, palm pressing against her entrance, warm and pressured to perfection.

Josephine swallowed, eyes blinking open and shut in flutters. “I…I have to…I have to return the correspondence to Lord Selstin–” the name collapsed into another moan as Theia pressed harder, in both her grip and her mouth. Theia held back a devious smile.

“Mhm,” she growled against the crook of her jaw, “and what of the requisitions?”

“Agh, those must be quanitified and appropriated to the…the…the!” Josephine gripped against her sharply feeling heat against her inner thighs. Theia had mastered the art of ignition for one task and one task only – burning through the Orlesian lace that was artfully made to be torn asunder. Josephine rubbed a knee higher against the side of her waist.

But, like all things with Josephine Montilyet, it had only been a matter of time before she would take the momentum of the play and harness it for her own needs. She guided Theia’s mouth to hers, and as they both smiled against each other’s lips, she cooed.

“And then there are the acquisitions from the treaties we consolidated last week,” she whispered, “all seven of them, written and censu–” a crack in her throat as Theia’s index and middle fingers brushed into her, sweeping against her and meeting no resistance. She exhaled against her lover’s mouth, Theia keeping her gaze on her as she continued her rhythm. Onward, faster, but with a depth of someone who could not help herself but know every since inch of her.

She bit down playfully on Josephine’s lip, her free hand pulling down one of her stockings so as to feel the smoothness and bristled hair on her thigh, elbow bending up until she got all the way to the top of her knee. Josephine’s breathing only grew quicker and desperate. Her hand planted behind her snapping the quill in half as she braced against her more and more. She would rip the vest if she could, but she would have to settle for biting down on the collar of it.

She wrapped her arm around Theia’s neck as the Inquisitor remained unwavering in pursuit of what she wanted. She was so warm, so wet, abundant in her hand that it made her heart beat as if it would rupture from her chest. She felt a symbiotic surge of energy in between her own hips, a sympathetic insurgence that told her everything she needed to know about how close she was. How close they were.

She kissed against Josephine’s neck some more. Leaning into her and feeling helpless as she felt Josephine’s hips grind slow against her hand. She loved it when she did that.

A crack, a higher pitch, pushing past a boundary. Close, so close.

Theia clutched the side of Josephine’s bare thigh, her lips to her ear.

“Please, Josephine, please,” she moaned with a desperation no one in the world would know but her. The salted layer of sweat chilling the top of Theia’s lip as it touched her cheek. “Please…” her hand went fast, but not recklessly. Fast as in determined, honed on the spot just to the right of her clit. The spot that was too much and never enough.

Josephine’s voice went higher, more wistful, and her back arched with an immediacy that was tell-tale. Her fingers and knees pressed unforgivingly against Theia’s body and she moaned, moaned like no one else could hear, over and over. Railing, crashing, waving. Cracking and cresting.

Theia found the spot and pressed, rhythm finding its limit and then surpassing it. It was what made it go so long, so urgent, so unrelenting.

“Theia!” Josephine cried into her shoulder when she did, a reprimand and a rejoicing. She tilted her head back, allowing for Theia to sink her mouth in the valley of her neck above her collar bone. No layers or robes could get in the way.

Then, the release from the brink.

Josephine eased, muscles giving into blissful looseness. Theia’s hand pulled her stocking up smoothly, and all at once she had her hand at the small of her back as she guided her to lay down on the table. Flat on her back and cutting through Seheron, the Ambassador’s chest heaved up into the air with reverie.

Theia, retracted her hand, slipping out from its sanctum and helping to anchor her as she leaned over her. She beheld her, chest close to hers.

Josephine opened her eyes at last, pupils fixating on her lover as she gazed down upon her.

“Anything else, Ambassador?” Theia teased as she brushed her thigh between her legs, making her shiver once more.

Josephine chuckled breathlessly, followed by a tsk on her tongue. She kneed Theia in the side, making her fall forward more until their noses nearly touched.

“Yes…Inquisitor,” she exhaled, holding her hand in a fist between their necks. A soft smile, victorious. “You owe me a replacement quill. I must finish these ledgers before midnight. And I prefer the…fine-tipped and polished variety…please.”

Theia raised a brow. She wanted to laugh, she wanted to insist on more, she wanted to defy that smugness of hers and until she had nothing left to say but scream. But, looking down into her brilliant green and hazel-toned eyes, Theia saw everything she loved about her. Everything that was formidable and worthy of exaltation. She would make love to her in so many ways, so many kinds of ways, and be the better for it. She pressed her lips to hers out of sacred reverence, before it would be back to work.


End file.
